


Your core

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [17]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Because clearly the author isn't in her right mind, Boris speaks Ukrainian under the sheets, First Time, Love, Lust, M/M, Morbid thoughts, Passion, People compared to nuclear reactors, Smut, Valoris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: Boris is a rigid Soviet bureaucrat, but Valery craves to know if there is more behind his austere facade.He wants to get to his core.At any cost.
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Series: Bullets [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372144
Comments: 17
Kudos: 86





	Your core

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt that came to my mind was simple: _"when Boris loses control, he speaks Ukrainian when he and Valery are in bed"_ , and in my intentions it must have been a funny, cute one shot, instead I wrote this weird piece.  
> But maybe I should stop wondering how my brain works ( ~~it basically projects my insane Stellan Skarsgard thirst, okay?~~ )  
> At least I hope it reflects the love I think they feel about each other.

The first impression one has of Boris Shcherbina is that of an impeccable man, flawless in his ways, words and appearance.

An elegant, clean, well-groomed man with tailor-made clothes that reflect his sense of dignity.

A tall, imposing man despite the passing of the years, with a straight back and a confident walk, a man who makes you turn your head in his direction as soon as he sets foot in a room.

A man with a gravelly, deep voice, which attracts attention with its sound even before than with words.

A man able to discuss and talk fluently in front of the cameras, to answer unexpected questions without stuttering, able to remain in front of a mirror for hours to learn a speech by heart, to repeat it ten, twenty, thirty times, until every word is in the right place and his pronunciation is perfect. Hearing him speak, and without knowing his background history, no one would ever say he is Ukrainian.

It was a surprise for Valery to discover his heritage.

Valery is a poet and loves metaphors. In his mind, Boris is like the building that encloses a nuclear reactor: essential in its lines, squared and functional, concrete and steel, the perfect casing that hides the place where Boris uses a strong discipline and an iron will, that move together like in a dance, to shape the image of himself that he shows to the world.

But Valery is also a scientist, it’s in his nature to want to know and explore, and now he wants to understand if Boris is only the stiff Soviet apparatchik, or if he hides something different inside him. After all, even the austere and essential building of a nuclear reactor hides an energy capable of illuminating entire cities.

And sometimes, when their eyes meet, when Boris' hand rests too long on his shoulder, when his voice softens and calls him _Valera_ , when his grey eyes linger on his figure, when in a fraternal Soviet hug Boris’ fingers fleetingly grab his side, Valery thinks he sees a small crack in that wall of stoicism and perfection.

Valery yearns to find out if it's true, it's stronger than him, stronger than that bit of common sense that shouts to him to stop, that it's dangerous, it's a madness, he will end up in trouble if he doesn't stop.

He knows, but he can't stop himself: he has always been a tearaway, he is reckless to the point that one day, while he’s in Boris' office, he suddenly grabs his tie to pull him and crush their lips together in an impromptu kiss.

Boris lets out an astonished gasp, but Valery continues to kiss his thin lips, without backing away, and when finally Boris opens them, Valery's tongue is immediately in his mouth to savour his taste, bitter of vodka.

Bold.

Mad.

Then Boris’ hands rest on his shoulders, without hurting him, but pushing him away, and he breaks the kiss by lowering his head.

"Are you drunk?" He asks brusquely.

"No," Valery replies with absolute calm, "you're the one who drank."

Boris looks back at Valery, observing his resolute blue eyes, his raised chin, his clenched jaw. Boris' gaze runs over Valery's face like a caress, and he doesn't shy away from the scrutiny, he doesn't move an inch: Boris must have no doubts about what Valery wants, about what he's asking out of him.

"Fuck, Valera, I... I have people waiting for me in a few minutes." Boris puts his hands on the desk, his eyes closed, his voice less steadfast than usual, the accent of his native language flashing in his words for a moment.

Here it’s again that small crack, which Valery would like to enlarge with his hands, to get to see what is hiding behind that reinforced concrete wall.

"It's not a no," he says quietly, his intertwined fingers resting on his belly.

"No, it's not." Boris opens his eyes, giving Valery a hungry look that makes him shiver.

"Boris..."

"Not now, I have to go," he answers, straightening his tie and quickly rebuilding his impeccable look, "I'll call you."

Valery holds his wrist fleetingly when Boris walks by him.

"Let it be soon."

He’s without brakes now, and can’t stop anymore.

It's soon, it's that same evening, at the bureaucrat's home, and this reassures Valery that Boris wants him with his same intensity, but that first time Valery burns quickly, like a man exposed to a lethal dose of radiation.

He isn’t surprised and not even embarrassed by the reaction of his body and the quickness of the intercourse. To tell the truth, it’s a miracle that he manages to get himself dragged into the bedroom and undressed without losing it, but as soon as Boris' hands are on his body, warm, large, sure, Valery loses control over himself.

He screams, overwhelmed by the orgasm, he screams, while Boris has no mercy and continues to pump his erection, milking him with the precise, almost surgical movements of his hand, he screams when the pleasure degrades into pain, and only then Boris lets him go, resting his hand on Valery’s belly.

Boris just arches one eyebrow and a satisfied smirk blossoms on his lips, at the thought of having reduced Valery to an incoherent mess. He’s in full control of himself, still wearing vest and trousers, and for the moment he seems willing to ignore the erection that stretches the fabric, to continue tormenting Valery a little more.

"Valera, Valera, you can’t be quiet to save your life," he teases lightly, running a finger over the drops of semen that stain Valery’s belly.

"It's your fault," he mumbles, still dazed, naked and motionless on the mattress, at the complete mercy of his (partner? Lover?)

Boris seems extremely pleased with his confession, as he explores his whole body with his hands, focusing on what Valery considers nothing but flaws: the freckles, the scar of the appendectomy, the rolls of fat caused by a too sedentary life.

When Boris' fingers graze his nipples, Valery hisses through clenched teeth, and his cock swells again, pressed against Boris' muscular thigh.

Boris murmurs his approval, kissing his throat.

Exactly like the exposure to radiation, after a short latency period, the effects arise again, stronger and more virulent than ever.

This is what happens when you venture into the building of a reactor without any protective gear: you’re completely annihilated.

But then Boris says something unexpected, lips pressed against his carotid artery, something that Valery's still slowed brain can't understand.

"You are a menace, Valery Alekseevič."

HE is a menace?

After Boris made him come like an inexperienced teenager, after he made Valery hard again in a few minutes, using only his hands?

He opens his mouth to blurt out an incredulous laugh, but Boris' tongue invades it, sucking up his last conscious thoughts, then he lowers the zip of his trousers, clutching both their cocks in his hand with a low, feral growl, and Valery can just offer himself to him, like a sacrifice.

"You really wanted it," Boris murmurs fondly, carding a hand through Valery’s sweaty hair, after he has cleaned them and they’re under the covers. He’s still extremely smug but, well, he has every reason to be.

If nothing else, he's undressed now.

Valery barely has the strength to nod, his face half sunk on Boris' pillow. The lazy movement brings a trace of Boris’ smell to his nostrils, and if he wasn't so old and so tired, Valery wouldn't say no to another round.

He's crazy, completely crazy about him.

"Are you sated?"

"Never," Valery whispers, placing a hand on his chest, hoping that Boris understands his implicit plea for a relationship that lasts longer than a fleeting fuck.

Boris brings Valery's hand to his lips and gently kisses his wrist, flicking the tip of his tongue to taste the salty skin, then hugs him sweetly, so sweetly that Valery barely holds back a sob.

"Stay here tonight," he whispers.

He understands, he wants it.

The relief washes over Valery, while he squeezes his bicep, but he wants more. He wants something that he can't confess, he wants Boris naked in front of him, in body and in soul, he wants to make love not only with the soviet deputy minister, but also with the Ukrainian man from the Donetsk Oblast.

It wasn’t enough for him to have crossed the threshold of the building of the reactor, he wants to explore every recess of that place, discover every secret corner, go down to the inner part, access Boris’ core and sink his hands in his essence.

~ * ~

The second time they’re in Valery's small apartment.

Perhaps not to spoil the mood, Boris refrains from commenting on the chaos and the bleakness of it, or perhaps he’s more interested in Valery, who pushes him towards the room and the bed that can barely accommodate two adults, especially if one of them has Boris' bulk.

But Valery likes his bedroom; right, it looks more like an animal's den than a human being’s room, but it's a comfortable and intimate place, shielded from the rest of the world, where nobody can reach them, where they can be simply Boris and Valery.

Boris starts to take off his tie, but Valery stops him by grabbing his wrists.

"No, let me do it."

Should be an order.

Sounds like a plea.

Boris rests his arms down his sides in a silent permission, while Valery slides down the suspenders from his shoulders, unbuttons the shirt, the belt, lifts the vest over his head and pulls down the trousers, whispering incessantly, "Let me, let me," to hide what he really wants to tell him: _"Let me in, Borja, and show yourself to me."_

He is calmer than the first time, confident enough to last longer, but he can’t hide the thirst for him: Valery is not a reactor building, he has no walls or defenses, he’s an open book that Boris has already learned to read by heart with his mouth and hands.

"Let me," he begs again, as he makes Boris lie on the bed.

His lips touch Boris’ face, mapping his cheekbones, wrinkles, the stubble, and when Valey kisses the soft skin under his ear, Boris inhales violently and releases a needy groan.

 _"Here it is,"_ Valery thinks triumphantly, _"here is the key to get to him."_

He insists there with his lips, his wet kisses incredibly noisy in the small room; he draws the outline of Boris’ ear with the tip of his tongue, licks it wholly, and sucks the earlobe.

Boris’ perfect diction cracks quickly, leaving room for the musical, wide inflection of his native language.

"Oh Valery, your mouth... No, don't stop!" Boris begs, when Valery's mouth deserts his ear to slide down his neck, and leaves a small bite where it meets the shoulder.

Oh, Valery has no intention of stopping, but now that Boris is under him, he wants to explore every inch of his body, like Boris did with him the first time, even the most unusual zones: the hollow of the elbow, the armpits, the knees.

Boris doesn’t seem disturbed by his bizarre attentions, but after a while he clears his throat, looking at his own erection and arching one eyebrow.

Valery puts a hand on his thigh: the skin is scalding hot and the muscles quiver with impatience. Since he doesn’t want to irk Boris and ruin the mood, Valery licks his palm and makes a fist around Boris' cock, going up towards the glans and twisting his wrist. He lets him go, moistens his hand again and repeats the movement, this time lingering with his thumb under the crown.

"You want to drive me crazy, don't you?" Boris pants, squeezing the sheets between his fingers. The tense muscles of the arms are the proof of a latent strength, barely held back.

It should scare him, but it doesn’t.

 _"Yes,"_ Valery thinks, slowly moving his hand downward, _"I want to remove all your safety devices and bring you over your limit, I don't care what will happen."_

Outside in the world, Boris is a rigid and uncompromising bureaucrat, but here, in this room, Valery is equally ruthless in his desire.

Valery’s hand climbs slowly up to the frenulum, he torments it, he teases the foreskin with the tips of his fingers, covering and uncovering the swollen and red glans, then he pumps his cock harder, and holds Boris’ balls on the palm of the other hand.

"Oh... oh... Valera..." Boris arches his back and then says something that Valery doesn’t understand: clouded with pleasure, he is speaking Ukrainian without realizing it, "Your hands are so good... you’re wonderful, again, more, please."

It’s incredibly arousing to see Boris nude like that, sweaty, his hair in disarray, feverish, broken words falling from his lips. Valery is rock hard without even having touched himself.

"Yes, like that... oh... I'm almost there, I..." Boris closes his eyes and a shiver runs through his body.

Valery's hand gently closes around his balls, pulling them, letting a hint of pain mix with pleasure, while the other hand is still pumping his cock, the obscene sound of flesh on the flesh covering Boris’ moans.

Valery knows he is close: he looks at him hungrily, looks at the balls tight against his body, and pumps harder and faster; this time it’s Boris who shouts unrestrainedly when he comes, his come that drips copiously along Valery's fist.

Valery can't resist: he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers, licking away Boris’ most intimate taste for the first time.

"Shit Valery, you really want me dead." Boris grabs his waist, making him lie down, "but what a way to go," he adds with a sigh.

Valery looks at him without understanding his words, but lets Boris catch his lips in a ravenous kiss, and when Boris slides down on the mattress, he can only close his eyes and surrender to his warm mouth closing around his cock.

Valery did it often to his lovers, but few did it to him, and in any case nobody ever sucked him like that, with such greed and want. It's like a fire, it's the heat of the core that instantly vaporizes everything, and it’s enough for Boris' throat to tighten around his glans to make him reach the orgasm.

He can't think, he can't move, he feels like he can't come down from the high anymore; the last thing he perceives is Boris, who maneuver him around to spoon him with a satisfied grunt, and then then oblivion falls on him.

It’s morning when Valery wakes up, hearing a rustle of clothes and a low murmur.

He opens his eyes, even if, without glasses, the world is only a blurry spot for him, and he sees Boris in front of the mirror: he is dressing and, at the same time, he is repeating a speech in a low voice. In an instant, the naked and matted-haired man who hugged Valery tight all night long pulls back, to make room for the politician who walks self-confidently along the halls of the Kremlin.

Boris sees that he is awake in the reflection of the mirror, and smiles (or so it seems to Valery).

"I’ve a meeting, gotta dash. Go back to sleep, it's still early."

"I couldn’t get up even if I had to," Valery whines, still without strength. And to think that he is the less old of the two.

Boris chuckles, kneels beside the bed, takes his face in his hands and kisses him, not caring about the morning breath.

"I'll call you."

Valery holds a hand of Boris in his for a moment.

"Let it be soon."

"Aren't you sated already?"

"I told you: never. I'm crazy about you,” he adds, in case it wasn't already painfully obvious.

Boris kisses him again, looks at him with fondness and murmurs: "I knew you would be a demanding lover."

Lover.

The one who loves.

The one who is loved.

Valery nods: he likes it.

"I am."

_I'm your lover Boris, I'm yours._

~ * ~

They’re still in the scientist's apartment, and Valery likes to think that Boris finds his little den comfortable and safe.

They undressed each other and Boris is kissing him with the usual greed, that makes Valery’s knees go weak, but suddenly his lips stop moving.

Valery whimpers a weak complain, and when Boris doesn’t start kissing him again, he frowns and opens his eyes.

Boris isn’t looking at him, he is looking at the bedside table, where Valery, before leaving the house, has placed a tube of vaseline. They haven't gone that far yet, they haven't talked about it, but Valery has decided on his own and he’s sure about it.

Boris holds his breath; Valery senses his hesitation, so he rests his face on his chest, rubbing his nose against the wiry silver hair.

"Yes," is all he says.

Boris doesn't answer, he just puts a hand on Valery’s nape, holding his head against his chest, then kisses him on the forehead.

The passion hasn’t vanished, it has only momentarily withdrawn, to give way to tenderness and trust, expressed in the delicacy of a hug.

Then Boris moves away, lies down on the bed with his legs spread, his genitals on display, and arranges the pillows behind his head with a smile, relaxed as he shows off his body, that masculine body that makes Valery’s cock throb with desire.

Valery has never known a man so at ease with his body, and he thinks that Boris could easily parade around the house in the nude without any qualms. Maybe one day he will ask him to do it.

"You look like a man with a plan, go ahead," Boris encourages him.

He let him into the control room, he gave him the keys. 

This thought is enough to make Valery shudder.

He takes the vaseline, kneels at the foot of the bed and brings two fingers behind him, his lips tight and his eyes closed, preparing himself.

"Look at you, you're a marvel," Boris murmurs.

 _"You haven't seen anything yet,"_ Valery thinks, but instead of talking, he decides to show it to him, and he puts his hands on Boris’ knees, going up slowly and stroking the inside of his thighs. 

Boris thinks that Valery will use his hands again, like the last time, instead Valery bends over him, without giving him time to realize what he is about to do, and closes his lips around his glans.

A loud Ukrainian curse falls from Boris' lips, and Valery would smile triumpantly if his mouth wasn't too busy otherwise.

He descends on him, helping himself with one hand and tracing his veins with the tongue, imposing a slow rhythm, enjoying Boris's increasingly breathless sighs, his trembling thighs, the pungent and pure smell of his sex that makes him drool.

Boris rises on his elbows and reaches out to touch his face, his thumb caressing the corner of Valery's mouth.

"You're so good Valera, you're perfect. I want you, you don’t know how much..." he murmurs in his native language, and Valery can’t understand the words, but surely he perceives the feeling and the praises, as Boris continues to caress his face.

He is close again, so close to his exposed core, and there is nothing else he wants; feeling confident, he sucks harder, bobbing his head faster, ignoring the soreness in his jaw: he wants to push Boris over the limit and make him lose control.

There isn’t only a sexual component in his obsession, he loves Boris madly and yearns to know every aspect of him, to see him as no one has ever seen him.

Boris rests a hand on his nape, restraining himself again, but Valery raises his eyes to meet his and nods, then Boris closes his eyes and pulls his hair, guiding his movements, encouraging him, rocking his hips inside Valery’s mouth hard and fast.

He’s leaking profusely now, his taste invading Valery’s mouth, but it’s not enough to him: Valery moves a hand from his thigh, makes it slip past his testicles and presses two fingers on the perineum.

Boris' reaction is so swift that Valery barely realizes what's going on: he didn't imagine a man with that bulk could be so agile or fast. 

Boris lifts Valery’s head with an almost ferocious growl, throws him belly down on the mattress and positions himself behind him, brusquely spreading his legs with his knees.

The reactor is completely unbalanced now, the safety mechanisms are blown, Boris has no restrain anymore, and for a moment Valery shudders with fear, crushed beneath him: perhaps this time he has miscalculated.

Instead Boris kisses his nape, his neck, where he leaves a purple hickey, a shoulder; he murmurs melodic words in his ear that drip with passion, and when he penetrates Valery, he does it slowly.

"You're so tight Valera, fuck, you drive me crazy..."

Valery shudders again, this time blissfully, as Boris slides out of him almost completely, then pushes in again, grazing his prostate.

Valery bites the pillow under him, but Boris lifts his chin and talks to him again: "No, let me hear how much you want me."

Valery doesn't need to understand his words, he knows what Boris wants from him, and he stops muffling his obscene moans, more and more urgent and loud as Boris intensifies his thrusts.

Valery ruts on the sheets, but it's not enough to satiate him, it's almost frustrating, and he lets out a whine.

Then Boris slips a hand between him and the mattress and grabs his erection, continuing to pour praises over Valery's skin like a caress.

"You were born for this, you are made for me... you are mine, you belong to me." His big, skillful hand is bringing him quickly to the brink of the precipice, and Valery can do nothing to oppose the mounting pleasure. "Come with me, Valera, I want it..."

Boris is an attentive and generous lover; even with his senses clouded by ecstasy, he doesn’t think only of his own pleasure, he is making love with him and to him, and this, this is his essence: the core of Boris is warm and gentle, his love burns at very high temperature, but it doesn’t destroy him.

Although it’s almost impossible for him to move, crushed as he is under Boris, Valery tries to meet his thrusts, while the fire grows and grows in his groin; Boris is also close: he’s pushing fast and deep inside him, his forehead resting between his shoulder blades and his breath shallow. Valery clenches his buttocks, squeezing around him like a vice, and Boris is lost and comes biting his shoulder, but continues to jerking him off, dragging Valery with him.

And then, finally, when the last shudders fade away, Boris raises his head and whispers those words that don’t need translation, because Valery would understand them in any language.

"I love you, I love you, my Valera."

Valery closes his eyes and savours their sweet sound: it’s a blessing, it’s his reward for having dared to venture into the reactor building.

Boris is still lying on him like a heavy blanket of flesh, and another morbid and decadent thought runs through Valery's mind, a thought he knows he will never give a voice to.

He wouldn't mind if they both died right now, like this, at the height of happiness. Perhaps no one would find them, and their bodies would slowly decompose, dripping on one another, their bones would mix together, and eventually they would become one, they would no longer be Boris and Valery, but a single, indistinguishable entity.

Boris kisses him one last time between his shoulder blades, then rolls on his side and gathers Valery in his arms.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks sweetly, stroking his scarred cheek. Only now he realizes that he’s still speaking Ukrainian, so he squints, scrambles, and returns to speak Russian.

"Sorry: are you okay?"

"Don't apologize," Valery mutters, resting his fingers on his lips, "it was what I wanted, to reach you, the very core of you."

Boris' face becomes even sweeter: "I was right: you are a menace, Valery Alekseevič."

And this time Valery understands the meaning of his words.

_"You fuck me up, you strip me bare, I'm defenseless when I'm with you."_

"Will you tell me once more? With your words," Valery begs, tracing Boris’ lower lip with his index finger.

Boris indulges in his madness without hesitation.

"I love you."

"Now I'm fine," Valery replies, then falls asleep in his arms.

Boris is fully dressed again and ready to go.

Valery hands him his coat, but before let the garment to him, he stands on tiptoe and kisses him, then begs: "Will you tell me again?"

"I love you," Boris says in Ukrainian, but Valery shakes his head: "Tell me in Russian this time."

Boris chuckles: "Why?"

"Because you haven't told me yet, not in Russian."

"I also speak a little French: do you want to hear it in that language too?"

"Sure, next time. But in Russian now."

Valery is greedy, he wants everything of him: his incandescent core, but also the austere shell that protects him. 

Every now and then he is afraid of pushing Boris away, of making him run for the hills with the intensity of his feelings, but Boris is strong and brave, he fears nothing, he isn’t afraid to show himself to Valery for what he really is, and he isn’t afraid of his extreme, almost insane love.

He puts two fingers under Valery’s chin to make him lift his head, crush their lips together in a loud kiss, and indulges him again.

"I love you."


End file.
